A Cold Cup of Tea
by Sapphire at Dawn
Summary: Harry finds himself kneeling at the grave of a very unlikely person.


Harry waited at the kissing gate of the small churchyard, shivering into his buttoned up coat and shrinking back into his scarf to try and keep himself warm. As he stood, he watched the small group of people dressed in black coats and hats, huddled together around the grave to keep themselves warm. The white robe of the vicar whipped around him in the biting cold wind as he read. He watched for several minutes, too far away to hear the words that were being spoken, until people began to move away from the graveside, and the undertakers began to full the grave with earth. He moved away from the gate so that the people could leave, averting his eyes from their tear-stained faces.

The last to leave was a woman in a wheelchair so bundled about with blankets, only her head was showing. She was being pushed by a large looking man with a pink face and bright blond hair peeking out from underneath the hat he wore.

As they passed, the woman looked up at Harry, and a waver of recognition seemed to cross her face. She did not motion to her son to stop, but gave Harry a small flicker of a smile. Her eyes were red.

Harry stared at them as the son pushed his mother away, clutching onto the white carnations he had bought at the Muggle shop round the corner.

After they disappeared round the corner, he ambled through the gate, his joints stiff with the cold. Ginny would not be pleased with him for staying still for that length of time in this weather, but that could not be helped now, he sighed.

Slowly he wandered over to the grave adorned with flowers that the small congregation had just been clustered at. The undertakers had just left, leaving a mound of fresh earth in front of a grey marble headstone.

He reached the grave and awkwardly leaned down to place his flowers in front of the headstone, he could have conjured a nicer bunch, of course, but he didn't think that his cousin would really appreciate it. It was nicer, anyway, to buy Muggle flowers to rest beside the grave of a Muggle. He knelt there a while to read what was written.

_Dudley Vernon Dursley_

_Born 23rd of June 1980_

_Died 26th January 2055_

_Beloved husband, father and grandfather_

Harry sighed. When he had decided to come here, he had not know what he would feel. All throughout his childhood, he had hated Dudley, but since then, the hatred had mellowed. However, They had met only once since they last said goodbye at Number 4, Privet Drive all those years ago, at the christening of Dudley's son, and even then the visit was a short one. But they still sent Christmas cards to one another, every year. Except that now, Harry realised with a dim shock, there would be no more. He was relieved to find this sad. He had been worried he would have felt nothing at all when he stared at the cold harsh marble at the grave of his cousin. The cousin who had tormented for so many years.

Harry let his mind wander back to when the Dursley's left Privet Drive that summer. He remembered with a slight smile the cold cup of tea that Harry had trodden on outside his bedroom door, a peace offering from Dudley on the night they had left to go into hiding. Harry remembered that he had supposed it was a trick at first, but then at the sound of Dudley's voice when he realised Harry was not coming with them and the look in his eye as they shook hands for what they supposed then was the last time, he realised that his cousin had felt more than hatred for him. Harry was surprised to find that a small tear had leaked out of his eye at the memories.

Dudley had never actually expressed his thanks and gratitude towards Harry in so many words that night, or any time after, but he knew what he meant. After so many years animosity it was incredibly difficult for Dudley to contradict everything he had ever said to Harry, everything he had ever done. At the time, Harry had found it funny and surprising, not quite sure if he accepted Dudley's apology, but now, he realised he did. Dudley was completely forgiven, along with his cold cup of tea.

Harry cast his eyes to the weathered grave next to his cousin's.

_Here Lies Petunia Rose Dursley  
May She Sleep In Peace_

_And_

_Vernon Duncan Dursley  
Rest In Peace_

Harry had known about their deaths, but had not come to the funeral as he did his cousin's, so to speak. There was too much ill feeling there, still back then. But now he clapped a hand to the headstone and stared at it for a while. They were forgiven now. Harry tried not to smile as he thought of his Uncle's response if someone had told him that one day, his nephew would be knelt beside his grave, forgiving them.

He sighed as he picked two flowers from the bunch at Dudley's grave and laid them gently at the headstone, clearing to the side previous offerings that had died and were rotting away. After one last look at the graves, he awkwardly got to his feet and trudged away and back towards the kissing gate.

_**This is another one of my stories from my old account, if you find it familliar. I often wonder what happened between Dudley and Harry after the books. I don't think they would have met much afterwards, but I think Harry would be a tiny bit sad when he died, and might visit the grave to lay flowers. Hope you enjoyed reading it.**_

_**xx**_


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